Memories Old and New
by Henzie-sama
Summary: He didn't understand why, but he felt himself moved by the words of a poem that had always, otherwise, left him void of emotion. Hayato recites "Flanders Fields" for Remembrance Day. Lest We Forget. A tribute to those who fought in the war.


Memories Old and New  
>Henzie-sama<p>

**A/N: This is my tribute to Remembrance Day! I don't know about the other Canadians reading this, but this is a really important holiday in our country, and I respect that, and those who fought for our country, so I decided to make a tribute. My mind was made up when I heard one of my seniors recite "Flounders Fields" in front of our school today. I've heard that poem so many times I could recite it without the words, but it touches me every time anyways. So, please enjoy! (Despite my absolute LOVE for the holiday, it's kind of hard to see that in my story, isn't it? But I do love this holiday)  
>I dedicate this story to all those who died in any war. Lest we forget those who fought for freedom, none a single death was meaningless. Lest we forget. <strong>

He honestly didn't understand why their Canadian branch was so adamant about the guardians being present for this event. A holiday was a holiday, right? Even more than that, it wasn't even international! No one knew of the goddamn date, outside of the Canadians themselves. Tsuna, however, being the angel he was, couldn't refuse such a request from their lower family members, and demanded all their guardians attend.

That, of course, didn't stop Kyoya and Mukuro from running off to fuck at the country's big sights.

That's beside the point, though. Hayato tried not to shift too much in his seat, silently watching the hundreds of people in the crowd cry and clutch each others' hands. They were in the mafia, for god's sake! People died every day in their profession, what was so special about the veterans?

He knew the answer, of course. The country wouldn't be the same today, if it wasn't for those who had risked their lives. The _world _wouldn't be the same, if it weren't for the young and old that went out to way to protect what they believed.

But he was Italian, and there was no such holiday where he came from, so try as he might, he couldn't quite sympathize as well as he could.

Yet another but, it would not stop him from reciting the poem his sweetheart of a boss so adorable requested of him.

He took a deep breath, before standing, heading to the pedestal. He looked down at the paper before him, despite the fact he had already memorized the lines from his many practices.

"In Flanders Field, the poppies blow, between the crosses, row-on-row," he delivered smoothly, looking at the crowd of people, all with head bows, aforementioned little red flower pinned above their hearts.

"They mark our place; and in the sky, the larks still bravely singing, fly." He wasn't a poet, of course, but he really couldn't understand the significance of that line. What did 'larks' have to do with war?

"Scarce heard amid the guns below, we are the dead, short days ago, we lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow." This line, on the other hand, got him a little bit. He was still young, and despite his devotion for his boss, the thought of death did scare him a bit, thought maybe less than it should. Even more, of course, was the thought of losing those he loved. Not that he would admit it.

"Loved and were loved, and now we lie, in Flanders field." He had been so distracted by his thoughts; he hadn't comprehended what he saw. Now, however, he could see tears glistening in the eyes of their men, all deeply touched by the words he emotionlessly recited. All of them had lost friends, of course. So was the life of a Mafioso, but one rarely got the chance to grieve.

"Take up our quarrel, with the foe, to you from failing hands we through, the torch, be yours to hold it high." He knew the Tenth must be crying now. The last line made him, no, all of them, he was sure, think back to the death of Yuni and Gamma in the war against the Millefiore. Even if they were fine now, the pain of not being able to protect them back then stayed with them all.

"If ye break faith with us who die, we shall not sleep, though poppies grow, in Flanders Field," he finished smoothly, before bowing lightly, and returning to his seat beside Takeshi. Tsuna took the pedestal once more, but no one clapped for the bomber, as a show of respect. He didn't quite understand what it meant, but he knew it was practiced all over the country for this event, and wouldn't question it.

Tsuna started to speak again, but his voice was drowned out by the thoughts of the silvernette. No matter how many times he had recited it, he couldn't feel a thing, but suddenly, being up in front of everyone, he could feel the emotion behind the written words.

He almost jumped when a hand suddenly encased his, and he peaked from the corner of his eye to see Takeshi smiling at him faintly, as if to say 'good job'. It would be an understatement to say he was shocked when the tanned boy lifted his hand to wipe away a stray tear that had, unknowingly to him, rolled down his cheek.

Since when had he been crying?

_A/N: Sorry about that one, it's really not like anything else I've written~ It was really important to me, though, so a review would be wonderful from any readers! Thank you all! I'll get back to my normal humorous smut tomorrow, and hopefully have something up in the next day or two. Thank you so much for reading! Once more, lest we forget.  
>~Henzie-sama<em>


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